Words to Music
by KatrioneSnape
Summary: ONGOING SERIES OF ONE-SHOTS This'll be a running fiction. All of the chapters are completely unrelated to each other. Each will be a stand-alone one-shot inspired by a different song. No posting schedule, just written whenever the plot bunnies bite. All HGSS, all HEA...because duh.
1. Marry Me by Thomas Rhett

**So this is a herd of plot bunnies that keeps bouncing up and down in my head as I listen to the radio and apparently the little lagomorphs aren't going to shut up until I put pen to paper, so here's to keeping my toes un-nibbled.**

 **This'll be a running fic, but the chapters are completely unrelated to each other but rather each will be a stand-alone one-shot inspired by a different song. Apologies ahead of time for those who don't prefer country music...there might be a lot of that. Basically each time a song I hear spawns a plot bunny, I'll post another chapter here.**

 **This shouldn't get in the way of the posting schedule for** _ **Art of War**_ **. In fact, with all of these darn bunnies out of my head I might actually be able to focus for a change.**

* * *

 **This one is inspired by** _ **Marry Me**_ **by Thomas Rhett.**

 **I recommend listening to the song first so you can hear the words of the song then reading with it on in the background, but that's just me. Let me know what you think about this structure or if you have any song requests!**

* * *

It seemed to Severus to be an incontrovertible fact that the smarter the witch or wizard the more idiotic the decisions they would inevitably end up making in matters of the heart. He knew he was a man of far greater than average intelligence, a fact that had left him with few friends and even fewer allies in his school days at Hogwarts, and he had devoted two decades of his life pining after someone who not only had abandoned their friendship but had also had the audacity to be dead for a majority of his obsession with her.

After his disillusioned bezoar and hidden blood replenishing potions had allowed him to survive Nagini's attack, he was able to crawl off to an apparition point and lick his wounds at Spinner's End until he found out the outcome of the final battle and, more importantly, that the coin toss between national hero and future resident of Azkaban had come out in his favor. As he slowly got used to life after the Dark Lord, it took many bottles of firewhiskey, several unbecoming one night stands with nameless muggle women, and exactly one, very accomodating and frequently-obliviated muggle psychologist to realize just what a poor life choice his obsession with Lily Potter had been.

Six months after the wounds on his neck had finally dropped their scabs, he began to reintegrating himself into society via a quiet potions laboratory in the top floor of St. Mungo's. He had the fortune of getting almost automatically awarded a fair number of research grants due to his status as a war hero, which allowed him to sink into a peaceful routine of dunderhead-free, intellectually-stimulating work in his own private space each day. After a few big paychecks he also got to fulfill his life dream of incendioing Spinner's End to the ground and watching it burn before quietly purchasing a small flat in a tall building in muggle London not far from Diagon Alley.

However, with all this peace and quiet came ample time for introspection, which yielded the unfortunate conclusion that the smarter the witch or wizard the more ridiculously stupid their choices in the romantic realm. His unfortunate first case study of this came waltzing into his laboratory one sunny September day, formerly-bushy curls bouncing as she walked to his desk, happily placing a parchment bearing her straight-O NEWT scores along with a cover letter and resume on the wood in front of him. She said nothing but fixed him with a cheeky little smile that made it immediately evident his newfound peace was now a thing of the past.

* * *

As it turned out, Severus found Hermione Granger, apprentice and research assistant to be entirely more bearable than he had found Hermione Granger, swot extraordinaire and best friend of the Boy Who Lived to Remind Him of His Bad Choices. They worked largely in companionable silence except for their debates on their ongoing projects. She got him hooked on muggle lattes. He taught her Latin so she could read ancient potions texts without a translation spell. She forced him to write up his research for patent applications so he could garner profits from their sales. He hid the fact that after the first one he began to add her name to them as well. At Christmas she bought him an ugly, jet black, squashed faced, feline familiar with a penchant for curling up in his dragonhide boots when he took them off for the night. He made a show of grumbling and pretending to mind. She didn't comment when he named it Schrodinger and began bringing him to the lab each day. Overall everything worked quite well, much to Severus' surprise.

That is everything except for the tiny ring on Hermione's left hand.

After the war the ginger menace finally seemed to run out of excuses not to succumb to expectations and begin dating his long-time friend and the brains of the Golden Trio. Mrs. Weasley had been over the moon when they told her, smothering Hermione in enough love to indicate she already considered her a daughter. The happiness of the Boy Who Lived, now married to the Weasley girl and expecting their first child any day now, that his two friends were together was only surpassed by his relief that they would finally stop fighting.

Hermione didn't comment about the relationship much herself, but it seemed she was happy enough. They hadn't set a date yet, but every once in a while one of the female Weasleys would drag her away from work for a lunch and wedding planning session. And that was the proof Severus needed to verify his theory that smart witches and wizards are doomed to pick horribly when it came to love interests.

* * *

He said nothing the first time Hermione came back to the lab at quarter to seven. He had bid her goodnight at six thirty when she left early to surprise her fiance with a homemade dinner. He obligingly let it pass when she returned not thirty minutes later with puffy eyes, hastily-cleaned mascara stains, and a look that said she clearly didn't want to talk about it. Instead he simply emptied half of his latte into a clean beaker and passed it to her alongside the recent issue of _Potioneers' Quarterly_. She sniffed aggressively, obviously battling the urge to break down, but took the proffered drink without comment and sunk down in her usual chair. He said nothing about the lack of page turns for the next half hour as she stared vacantly at the paper in front of her.

When the terrier patronus came at eight asking where she was, he offered to owl that she had just left after working late and would be home shortly. The look of gratitude he received broke something somewhere deep inside him as she headed out the door.

* * *

After that she never went home early again. In fact, her usual pattern began shifting to include later and later nights in the office. As he practically lived in the lab, nothing much changed except for the fact that he now needed to get a cup holder to transport two lattes and two scones back from muggle London on his afternoon coffee run. They never spoke of that night, but a few months later he was meeting Lucius for a rare drink at the Leaky Cauldron he saw a flash of red hair disappear up the stairs with a giggling mass of blonde and put two and two together.

Every time he heard his apprentice come in from a lunch, talking animatedly about flowers or bridesmaids dresses he had to bite his tongue, but she was a brilliant mind and as such was almost guaranteed to end up with cheating wanker. It only made sense.

* * *

He was walking home one day when he happened to be passing a Muggle clothing store and see a familiar set of curls through the window. He made the mistake of slowing down just enough for her to see him, at which point he saw her face light up like a child on Christmas as she beckoned him inside.

Mistake number two was realized as he entered the store and was surrounded by white. White lace, white frills, white veils, and more sparkly baubles than would be needed to distract a flock of owls mid flight. She threw her arms around him, talking a mile a minute and he silently cursed himself when he couldn't stop his arms from bringing themselves around her as well.

She disappeared into the fitting room, chattering on about something that included needing a second opinion, and he sat awkwardly on an overstuffed ottoman trying to get his heart to beat more quietly so he could actually hear her talk when she came out again.

He needn't have worried. When he saw a rustling of the gaudy velvet fitting room, he looked up and his heart stopped beating entirely.

Gone were the muggle jeans and oversized sweaters he was used to seeing on his apprentice. Her hair was pulled back into a loose and messy bun, the wispy curls in front escaping to frame her face like the glow of a golden aura. The her front was draped in simple, white satin revealing a delicate neck, drawing the eye down to her subtly protruding collar bones, and modestly clinging to curves that had definitely not been visible under her bulky sweaters. The silk poured down her body creating an almost water-like wave of fabric as she slowly twirled around, eying herself in the mirror an indecipherable look somewhat resembling pleasure.

His breath came back to him in a choked gasp as he saw the lace running down her bare back from her shoulders to where the silk resumed on the lowest reaches of her back. Trying to regulate his malfunctioning airflow, his eyes flicked up to her face, from which her chocolate eyes were regarding him with nervously expectant apprehension.

"How does it look?"

Severus wasn't able to answer immediately, but after a quick swallow he managed to nod deeply, not taking his eyes off of hers.

"You look beautiful."

It came out as a whisper. He didn't know why, but from the delicate flush that stained her cheeks he could tell she had heard him.

"Thank you," she mumbled in embarrassment, "this one is my favorite." He watched as she twirled again, inspecting her dress in the mirror with a small smile on her face.

"It does not appear that you need a second opinion after all," he said, finally back under the familiar auspices of his Slytherin mask of indifference.

He was disappointed to see the small smile disappear immediately from her face only to be replaced with a look of poorly disguised sadness.

"This is my favorite, but Ron wants me to wear that one," she gestured to a gaudy gold chiffon dress that was covered in more ruffles than it wasn't. What wasn't covered in ruffles was bedecked in large maroon costume gems. What would have been an embarrassment at a high school prom was an epic tragedy as a wedding gown. When she spoke next, the tone of her voice embodied the disgusted grimace he had been fighting.

"The wedding colors are Gryffindor."

A slow tear ran down her cheek as she stole another longing look at herself in the full length mirror. Suddenly standing up and much closer to her than he remembered giving himself permission to be, he reached out and cupped her cheek, using his thumb to wipe the tear from her face before it reached her chin.

"Are you sure?"

He didn't remember speaking the words, but his voice echoed in the silence, their impact giving his thumb another tear to wipe off.

"It's what I've wanted since I got to Hogwarts. After I couldn't bring back my parents' memories the Weasleys were the only family I had. It's my chance to be somebody's someone. Harry has Ginny, and we're all growing up, right?"

He wanted to tell her how wrong it was. He wanted to tell her that she was a million times better than her ginger philandering oaf of a fiance. He wanted to tell her that she had haunted his dreams for months and that he was dreading her wedding worse than he would the reincarnation of the Dark Lord.

He said nothing.

His eyes lingered on hers for a breathless minute before he tore himself away from her.

"Well it sounds like you're getting exactly what you want then," he ran his hand over the golden ruffles of the Gryffindor colored travesty. "I'm sure you'll look lovely in this as well."

He made his way to the door but paused with his hand on the glass.

"If I was the one who got to marry you, I would hope it would be in _that_ dress," he said without turning around to see her reaction. After another frozen second he pushed on the glass door and swept out onto the cold street.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, neither ever spoke of that day. As her wedding day approached, he noticed she got quieter and quieter during the day. If he ever asked, she blamed the stress of planning a wedding. Neither was fooled but neither acknowledged it.

On the last day of her work before the Saturday she was to be wed, the air hung thick over them like an indoor rainstorm. As she packed her back like she did every day, she kept glancing up at him as if she was trying to get up the nerve to say something.

As she placed her last notebook in her bag he could take it no longer.

"Hermione?"

Her eyes whipped up, glimmering with hope, "yes, Severus?"

All the possibilities rushed to his head of all the ways he should tell her all the things he had been holding in for the last year of her engagement.

"Good luck."

He felt another crack in his heart as her face fell.

"Thank you, Severus."

Her voice cracked as she said his name and then she was gone.

It was closer to five seconds than six when he pulled the top off of the firewhiskey bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk.

* * *

He knew it had already happened. It was 5:06 on Saturday. She had already walked down the aisle in that horrible gold dress. In a few minutes the ginger moron would slobber all over her and from then on he would have to refer to his brilliant colleague as Madame Weasley. He wondered absent-mindedly how long it would take to stop loving this one.

He listened to the rain pouring over the windowpane with his eyes shut. A clap of thunder almost sounded like the crash of a door slamming opened. He only opened his eyes when the dripping sound of the rain sounded like it had begun coming from inside the building.

He looked up to see if the shoddy ceiling was leaking again and his breath caught in his chest.

Her chest was heaving like she just finished a footrace, making the drenched waves of white silk drip on the tile floor of their lab. Her face was flushed despite the goosebumps running up both arms. Her chocolate eyes were fixed on his like she was a hunter and he her prey.

He found himself immediately on his feet, but he caught himself before he allowed himself to jump to conclusions.

"I decided I liked this better."

Her tone was resolute. As much as he hated to hope, he knew she was not just talking about her dress.

"You didn't…?"

His question trailed off, but his meaning was clear. After a terrifying second, she slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. Still in disbelief, his eyes glanced down to see her naked left ring finger. With that evidence his eyes snapped back up to her face as he finally let himself believe.

He didn't know if he had run to her or she to him, but she was in his arms within a second. Her lips were as soft as he had imagined them to be, her kisses as incendiary as anything they had ever brewed in the lab. Her hands tangled in his hair as she pulled him closer to her. As he ran his hands down the lace back of her dress, he felt her moan into his mouth and press herself against him. Their bodies fit perfectly.

For the rest of the evening, the storm continued raging outside the lab. Neither of them noticed the rain, except when it came time to peel off the dress it had completely soaked.

And so, for the first time in either of their lives, it would seem, a bright witch and a bright wizard finally made an intelligent decision when it came to love. She had to get the dress professionally cleaned to erase the damage done by sprinting across muggle London in the pouring rain, but a few months later when she wore it again for their small ceremony in the countryside Severus thought it looked just as amazing as it had the first time he saw her in it.


	2. Drunk Girl by Chris Janson

**So I heard this song for the first time this week and this one-shot totally jumped the line. Not cool, dude. I have like nine others in process, including Art of War. Get out of my head, nasty plot-bunny!**

 **As usual, listen then read. I could go on a feminist rant with this song and how its lyrics should be required reading for every incoming college freshman, but, alas, I'll spare you the lesson and just let you get to the Severus. (We all know that's why you're here…)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

From the corner of the dark club her bouncing mass of curls caught his eye. Lucius had dragged him out for a drink claiming that they had needed to "catch up", yet it had been only twenty minutes into the outing when said Malfoy had disappeared to chase the short skirt of someone young enough to date Draco, leaving Severus alone in their corner booth to wait out the effects of his too-hastily consumed drinks until he was sober enough to apparate home. It was as he was mentally reciting all the different ways he could murder Lucius for abandoning him without getting caught (he was up to #74, slipping an inhibition loosening potion into the Malfoy morning coffee and letting him and Narcissa murder each other) when she caught his eye.

She was dancing with the redheaded Weasley girl, but the two were obviously in two different worlds. The redhead had a tiara and a sash which announced to the world that her wedding was the next day, in not so civilized terms. Hermione, on the other hand, was wearing the look of abject sadness, tampered by whiskey and transformed into a grotesque and unconvincing impersonation of happiness as she bounced about the dance floor. Her curls had almost doubled in length in the five years since he had seen her last, and they bounced and swayed tantalizing as she danced blindly, her eyes shut as she swayed to the pulsing beat.

Even intoxicated it was clear how her beauty had multiplied in the years since the war. Her body was that of a woman, a beautiful one at that, and he couldn't help feeling like a cat watching a flicking toy as he watched her long curls bounce. However, when he saw her face it sobered his thoughts immediately to see the spark of intelligence missing from her usually-bright eyes. He could see from the multitude of stamps on her hand that this was hardly their first bar that evening, but from the way she swayed dangerously he knew it would be her last. He could also glean from said hand that the small engagement ring which had signified her assignation with the other Weasley had disappeared, but recently enough for the tan line not yet to have faded. Come to think of it, he could remember seeing a tawdry headline about their messy split a few days prior.

Making a brief scan of the dance floor around her, he could unfortunately see that he was not the only male to see the lowering of her inhibitions due to her inebriated state. Several unsavory-looking young wizards circled her like sharks, dancing intimately with her as soon as they got close enough. It took him until the first strap of he black dress slid down one shoulder to make up his mind.

By the time he got across the crowded floor to her she was only upright due to the groping presence of the near-slobbering wizard behind her. Her eyes still shut, she looked nearly asleep as she swayed drunkenly on her heels. As he approached, putting back on his rusty, long-abandoned, dungeon bat sneer, the slimy wizard's hand quickly slithered out from under her skirt, where he was almost certain she hadn't even been able to feel its violations. By the time he was close enough to reach the young cretin he dropped the near-unconscious witch and ran, leaving Severus to catch her fall just in time.

Looking down to ensure she had her personal items on her, he gathered the now passed out witch into his arms, walked from the club and into the nearest alleyway. He fumbled in her purse for clues and was immensely grateful to find her muggle ID, complete with her home address, and quickly disapparated.

* * *

He felt out of place standing in her apartment after fumbling too long with her keys in the doorway. Dressed all in black, carrying an unconscious witch, he contrasted starkly with the all-white walls of the unfurnished apartment. It was a small, one-room flat with boxes strewn about and a mattress in the corner. Everything was clean, but nothing in the place made it feel like an actual habitation for a human. No pictures were hung, no personal items could be seen, just boxes and essentials like kitchen tools and clothes.

He walked her over to her perfectly-made mattress (it couldn't be called a bed, for there was no frame or headboard to be seen) and slid her thin frame gently under the covers after pausing to remove her shoes. He ensured she was covered properly from the neck down, freezing momentarily as she seemed to be on the verge of rousing, but the witch just mumbled something incoherent and wrapped herself around one of the pillows on the mattress. She held on to it tightly, pulling it under the covers with her, gripping it with her knees as well as her arms as she curled onto her side and fell back asleep.

Having both hands at his disposal once more, he arranged her purse carefully on the counter next to her keys and muggle pocket telephone, which he set to vibrate mode so as not to wake her. He placed her shoes carefully back into the brown box which clearly contained nothing but a jumble of shoes. He grabbed the small trash can from under the kitchen sink and placed it quietly next to the side of her mattress, just in case. On second thought, he also grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge and placed it on the floor next to the trash can. After pausing a moment to look at the sleeping witch, he begrudgingly fumbled into his pocket and retrieved the hangover potion he had brought with him preemptively expecting to imbibe a great deal while suffering the presence of the haughty Malfoy patriarch.

Looking around and declaring his work done he made towards the door, turning on a small lamp on his way out so she wouldn't awaken in the dark. On a last minute impulse, he pulled a scrap of parchment from one of the boxes and penned a quick missive using a muggle writing implement from the counter. He placed it next to her keys on the counter before letting himself quietly out the door.

Before he disapparated he spent a full five minutes setting up as many wards as he could around her house, all set to dissolve as soon as someone passed through them from the inside. He used a quick charm to lock the muggle lock on the door as well before the crack of apparition popped him out of site of the small, sad looking flat and its slumbering occupant.

* * *

When he got back to Spinner's End he indulged in one of the bottles of aged firewhiskey Lucius had given him a few Christmases ago. He sank down into the worn chair by the muggle radiator trying to keep warm while he practiced his lip-reading skills on the broken television he had never bothered to get fixed. He never really bothered with the plot of anything and his lip-reading skills were good enough to get the drift of whatever news he watched.

Right now the anchors were droning on about the trends in the muggle market while his ears picked up the sounds of the couple next door having another screaming row. Back when his phone was connected he used to call the police if it sounded the woman was being roughed up too badly, but these days it sounded like she gave as good as he got, so he left well enough alone.

Whiskey tumbler still in hand, he drifted off to a drunken slumber to the sounds of his shouting neighbors. Right before his head drooped onto his chest, his mouth twisted into the unfamiliar feeling of a small, warm smile as he pictured the innocent way she had curled herself around the spare pillow in her bed as she fell asleep, almost the way a child would clutch a cherished stuffed animal. He fell asleep with the image of her raucous curls fanning out across the bed as she slept peacefully.

* * *

Hermione woke to a raging headache. She opened her eyes in dread and was pleased to be faced with a faint light in an otherwise dark room. Grateful for not waking to pitch black and (more importantly, given her current headache) the ability to see without being blinded, she tentatively opened her eyes. Not remembering anything past going into the last club, she didn't know how she had gotten back to her flat. She knew Ginny, still cold after Hermione's painful split with Ron, wouldn't have taken time out to deliver her back to her flat. As she swung her feet over the side of her mattress her feet hit the side of what turned out to be her freshly-emptied kitchen trash can.

Upon further investigation she discovered a cold bottle of water and a small potions vial. It was unmarked and clearly had been hand-brewed, but after unstoppering it she was hit with the unmistakable odor of a hangover potion. The second it hit her lips she felt the lingering effects of alcohol leave her system, betraying a quality of hangover potion her efforts had never been able to accomplish.

She rose from the bed and, as the sheet and blanket fell away, was overwhelmed by an immediate wave of gratitude to find her dress and underwear still firmly in place. She did wonder where she had left her shoes until she saw them on the top of the box that held the rest of her still-to-be-unpacked footwear.

She saw her purse and padded over to the counter only to feel her stomach drop when she saw a spiky black script across the back of a bit of parchment. She read the note once with horror, then again through the freshly-flowing tears. It was unsigned, but she would recognize that handwriting anywhere. She sank to the floor and read it a third time from the fetal position as she sobbed. She headed into the shower to wash off the now very smudged makeup from what she knew would be her last unfortunate night of that variety, placing the note back on the counter as she left.

* * *

 _I intercepted you on the dance floor of_ The Spotted Unicorn _in a state of extreme inebriation. Several young wizards had tried to take liberties with your person and your friends did not seem to be watching you with enough vigilance given your state. I would humbly suggest less alcohol or better friends should you consider further outings. You are worth far more than that. If I had a witch such as yourself on my arm I would treat you as you deserve to be treated._

* * *

One shower later she headed out the door with a fresh change of clothes, a mission, and the gleam that had been long-missing from her eyes. She noticed the wards disperse as she exited the lot of her apartment complex, feeling another wave of shame wash over her. Her pace quickened as she headed towards the nearest owlery.

* * *

By the time Severus got to his office the next morning the note was already on his desk. It was short, obviously embarrassed, and straight to the point. She offered her apologies for having inconvenienced him, a thanks for having taken her home, and another apology that stood alone, not apologizing for anything specific. She didn't respond to the carefully-hidden invitation he had hastily added into the last line of his note to her, but he supposed that was all for the best. A beautiful young witch like Hermione Granger would never be found on the arm of an old, scowling, dungen bat, albeit a former dungeon bat, such as himself. Not without the amount of alcohol she had consumed, at least, and he sincerely hoped never to see her that intoxicated ever again.

* * *

As the weeks turned into months he saw her out and about more and more frequently. About six months later she was promoted from her low-level job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to a prestigious position clerking for one of the highest-ranked members of the Wizengamot. Both working in the ministry, he passed her in the hall often enough, and she never quite acknowledged his presence, but she never quite ignored him either. Every time she saw him she lowered her eyes, an embarrassed look would flash across her face before she schooled her features, her posture would straighten, and then she would walk just a little bit faster until they had passed each other.

As the months turned to years she was promoted again and again. As they passed in the hallways he saw her muggle jeans turn to muggle dress pants, her baggy jumpers to nice blouses. Her sensible footwear stayed sensible but now obviously came from stores more likely to be patronized by Narcissa Malfoy than Molly Weasley.

He always wished for her to talk to him as they passed in the hallways, but seemingly the only constant in her life seemed to be the embarrassed little smile-cum-grimace and downturned eyes whenever their paths crossed.

* * *

One night several years later Severus was eating dinner at his favorite greasy diner off the main drag in Diagon Alley. He could tell it was Friday night, not that he really kept track anymore, by all the paired-off witches and wizards around him. More and more as the years went by he felt that couples existed for the sole purpose of annoying him. His students across the years would swear it was because he was a soulless vampire who didn't understand love, but in the honesty of his own head he knew it was because love was the one thing he had wanted his whole life...and been denied his whole life. But Severus Snape did not deserve love. He had spent a lifetime doing unspeakable things. Lying, hurting people, cheating (the system, at least)...he hadn't done anything that would allow him to deserve love.

Actually, that wasn't quite true. He drifted into thought of the night he had found Hermione on the overcrowded floor of that dank club and smiled. Okay, maybe he had done one good thing. One noble thing. Something he didn't regret.

His eyes drifted to the entryway of the diner where a group of people had just walked in talking loudly and excitedly. They all seemed to be wearing matching buttons on their jackets as if part of a political campaign. From the number of high fives being given out it would seem as if their candidate had won whatever it was they had been running for. As they filed past his table he caught a quick glance at one of the badges and was greeted by a flash of red.

 _Granger for Minister_

His face broke into a small, happy, and proud smile as he resumed eating his fish. Nodding to himself he continued to watch couples walk past on the busy street outside the diner, smile still lingering on his face.

* * *

A week later Severus was sitting in his office going over a journal article for publication when all the sudden his door burst open. He stood up from his desk chair as three aurors, all dressed in identical black robes, burst in to his office without acknowledging his presence. They walked the perimeter of his office as if they were looking for something and, after checking inside his store closet and out his window, still all without a word to him, nodded at the wizard at the door, who, in turn, shouted "all clear" to what he could only assume was another auror stationed out in the hallway.

A second later she was standing in his doorway, the little embarrassed smile he was used to seeing on her face transformed into one of mischief, her eyes now staring directly into his own.

"All clear, Madame Minister. We'll be outside," said the auror closest to her. She thanked him with a tilt of her head and a soft word, but never took her eyes off of those of the speechless wizard staring at her from across his desk. Once the door shut behind the three black-clad aurors she took another step towards him.

"Hello, Severus," she said, the lilt of her mischievous smile could be heard in her voice, but he still noticed a hint of nervousness as well. Her voice was deeper than the last time he had spoken with her, but as that had been before she left to go hunt horcruxes it wasn't surprising. Her expensive black pencil skirt and blazer hid just a peep of the green blouse she had on underneath. The Slytherin green blouse...he couldn't deny that it suited her, complimenting the brown waves of long curls that cascaded over one shoulder down almost to her elbows. He realized with a gulp that not only had his mouth been filling with liquid, but that he had also been staring at her for a socially-unacceptable length of time without speaking.

"Hello, Minister Granger. Congratulations on your recent victory," he managed to get out without stammering.

"I've been wanting to come and thank you for what you did for me that night," she said, the embarrassed smile he was used to seeing returning for a second.

Confusion overriding his sense of civility, he responded before thinking, "Now? We must have seen each other dozens of times in the years since I...I mean, it was nothing, Minister. I was only too glad to help-"

"Hermione," she said. He hadn't realized she had come closer to him. And when did he walk to the other side of his desk? He could now smell whatever amortentia-laced shampoo she must use wafting from her curls.

"What?" He said, swallowing again.

"Please call me Hermione."

"Alright," he paused before caressing her name on its way out of his mouth, "Hermione, why now?"

It was her turn to swallow. She stood up marginally straighter as she spoke. "You said kind things in the note you left. Kind, generous," she let out a nervous breath of air that almost bordered on a giggle, "incredibly inaccurate things. I wanted them to be true before I saw you again." She nodded, almost to herself more than to him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, inspecting her through suspicious eyes.

"You're worth more than that", she quoted. "I wasn't, not then, but I wanted to be. I wanted to be worth being on your arm before I thanked you. Before I approached you," she said, trailing off as if she wasn't sure whether more words were necessary.

"Approached me?" he said, trying not to give any credence to the feeling of hope threatening to bubble out of his chest. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, nodding.

"Severus Snape, would you like to go to dinner with me?"

He gaped at her.

"Why?"

"To thank you? Well, and because I would like to go to dinner with you."

"Why?"

"Because I like you?"

"Why?" he asked, but seeing her confidence begin to flag he amended his statement, "I mean, for how long?"

"Since I woke up to find a hangover potion by my bed and my shoes back in their box," she said with a fond smile.

"And you've waited this long to approach me why?" he asked, still as confused as anyone had ever seen the great Severus Snape.

This made her blush with embarrassment, but her eyes didn't leave his as she answered, "I wanted to deserve you first."

"So you've liked me for years, but you became the bloody Minister for Magic before asking me out to dinner?" he asked incredulously. She nodded happily.

He stood frozen, staring at the witch in front of him before seeming to snap to his senses.

"Insane witch. You are simply out of your mind." He shook his head as he paced the few steps that remained between them before wrapping his hand around the curls at the base of her neck and cradling her head while he pressed his lips to hers. She let out a startled gasp but immediately her hands came up to his sides as she melted into his kiss. The kiss was passionate but chaste, his lips caressed hers without invading her mouth. She pressed herself to him fervently, yet not too intimately. When he pulled back her face was flushed and she was grinning.

"I'll take that as a yes, then?" she said, eyes never leaving his. He nodded, holding out his arm to her. He saw the flash of recognition as she realized the parallel, then very intentionally positioned herself on his arm as they left the office.

"Where are we going, Madam?" asked the head auror standing just outside the door.

"Auror Jenkins, this is Severus Snape. He lied repeatedly to Tom Riddle, went undercover for years, and escaped numerous duels with inner circle Death Eaters unscathed. You and your team may take the rest of the evening off."

She looked into his eyes and smiled in a way she hadn't in years.

"He's more than capable of getting me home safely...again."


	3. I'll Name the Dogs by Blake Shelton

**3: I'll Name the Dogs (Blake Shelton)**

 **So I've had a legitimately horrible day, so here I retreat into the world of fanfiction.**

 **Here's the next installment. Just a reminder, all the chapters here are separate, unconnected one-shots and that each is loosely based on or inspired by the song after which they are named. That being said, go listen to the song, then come back and read.**

 **As always, let me know what you think or if you have any songs you think are HGSS-y…**

* * *

While planning out her courses for that semester, Professor Granger realized it had been almost two full years since the day that Professor Snape had first kissed her. They had been in the middle of a debate about the alchemical reactions in a de-aging potion and instead of the fiery retort she had been expecting, he just pressed her up against the wall of her classroom and snogged her senseless. After a full twenty minutes of the most passionate kisses she had ever experienced, the bell rang to signify the end of the period and he straightened his robes and walked out without a word. He hadn't mentioned the incident for days and it had almost gotten to the point where she thought she might have dreamt the whole thing when, upon completing their evening rounds a few nights later he did it again, this time pinning her against the door to her rooms for a deliciously bruising goodnight kiss. And so began the oddest, most passionate, and most confusing two years of Hermione Granger's romantic life.

Being a professor at Hogwarts was Hermione's dream job. She thrived on the learning, the research, the access to the library, and the ability to continue learning. However, her being sequestered in a castle nine months a year had a bad interaction with her natural predilection to neglect her social life. A very bad interaction. In the five years since she had started teaching she had been on exactly four first dates and zero second dates. Anyone who was willing to pursue a relationship with someone who was gone nine months a year was, as she had discovered, more interested in dating her status as a war hero than her actual, bookworm self.

Thus her casual but passionate whatever-it-was with Professor Snape, now Severus to her, seemed to be just perfect. However, after two years of the most amazing kisses, backrubs, academic conversation, and, yes, sex of her life, she was beginning to wonder just where exactly he wanted to go with whatever it was. They talked easily about any topic under the sun, except the status of their relationship. It had only taken her a month or two to realize she had fallen for him. She fell for his quick wit, his sarcastic banter, the way he challenged her, the way he supported her career, the way his dark eyes seemed to pierce her very soul when he looked at her. She loved him. She had never told him, but she knew she loved him. Now she just wondered if it was mutual.

However hard she tried not to let semantics bother her, as the months wore on it began to worry her. Every time she tried to bring it up she could sense how uncomfortable it made him, so she tried to avoid it. However, she knew eventually they would come to a point of impasse at which she couldn't remain a casual, colleague-with-benefits any longer without losing her sanity.

* * *

With this on her mind, she pushed on the door to his rooms one evening, giving her the same, fruitless "no kissing until you get answers" pep talk she always gave herself. However, this time when she got inside (he had long since added her to his wards), she found herself alone in the room. She was about to call out for him when she saw, on the main table, a large black basin full of a familiar swirling silver liquid. She got closer and saw that the card in front of the pensieve simply said "I'm not much for words. This should answer your questions.". _Well that's promising,_ she thought, inspecting the swirling vapors.

 _Okay, Severus, let's see what you have to say._

* * *

Upon entering the pensive, she immediately felt odd. The world just felt off somehow. She had been in enough pensives sorting through memory evidence after the war to know what one felt like, and she couldn't initially put a finger on it, but she knew something was off. The inky blackness wasn't anything she had experienced in the real world. There were colors, but not the kind that actually created images, just colors floating around as if she was dreaming. She _was_ dreaming! As the colors began to transform themselves into real images, she realized that this wasn't a memory of a real life, but rather Severus had pulled a memory of a dream.

 _Ingenious. I didn't even know that was possible to do!_

Marveling again at Severus' cleverness with a pang in her chest, she settled in to see exactly what the mysterious Severus Snape dreamt about at night.

* * *

The first distinct image Hermione could see was a vision of herself passing through the wards of Severus' chambers. She could tell it was herself, obviously, but it didn't look right to her at all. The dream her was like a completely different girl than the one she glared at in the mirror each morning. Instead of bushy curls, the dream Hermione had glamorous, tantalizing waves of beachy ringlets, the kind Ginny was always lusting over in Witch Weekly. Dream Hermione had no hint of the stubborn stomach pudge actual Hermione constantly poked and prodded when she got dressed. Nor, she realized, did she have the awful face freckles Hermione hated so much. Actually, Hermione noted to herself as she watched this stranger open the door, she did have a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose, they just didn't look as off putting as the ones she herself sported. They actually looked quite adorable, if she had to admit it.

 _Is this how Severus sees me?_

She watched herself enter the apartment only to find a thick pile of parchments on the table in front of her dream doppelganger. She watched herself pick one up and, looking over her own shoulder, realized it was the details for a gorgeous house in the Scottish countryside. The next one was to a glamorous apartment in the nicer apartment complex in Diagon Alley.

"Severus? Are you here? What are these?" dream Hermione yelled out to the seemingly-empty apartment. All the sudden there was a billow of black and the tall wizard had embraced her dream-self from behind. She heard a giggle far too melodious and bell-like to be her own as he began kissing the witch's neck and nibbling on her earlobe.

 _Does it count as voyeurism if it's yourself?_

"What are these, Severus?" the witch asked between giggles.

"Well, my love, we have to go somewhere when term ends. You don't belong in Spinner's End and you know I want to burn the ruddy place to the ground, so I figured you could pick a replacement," the wizard purred into her dream-self's ear. Hermione couldn't help a sad feeling as she inspected Severus' subconscious' version of his own appearance. His nose was a little more prominent than it was in real life, his hair a little lanker. His self-image was clearly not a positive one. Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for the wizard if this is what he thought he looked like.

On the other hand, she felt a little bit envious of her dream-self at being on the receiving end of such declared affection. In real life she had to push and prod for half the attention this witch was being freely given.

 _Is this what he wishes he could do in real life?_

The two were now sitting on the sofa, snuggled up together and looking at particulars.

"But Severus, these are way out of my price range. I think you're overestimating Hogwarts' teaching salaries by a solid margin."

"You just pick one, my dear. I'll find the galleons. I have been licensing potions recipes since the first war. We'll be just fine with any of these."

Hermione goggled as the memory faded out.

* * *

The next few memories flashed by quickly. There were some of him watching her teach classes, some of them laughing and doing research together, she saw them holding hands in the professors' rows of the Hogwarts graduation ceremony, and then it was apparently summer in Severus' dreams and she watched as a golden goddess in a yellow sundress (a witch who bore only a passing resemblance to the pale-skinned, bushy nightmare she tried to comb each morning) had a very extended pillow fight with a laughing Severus on the floor of what was clearly one of the houses from the brochures. Everything was still in boxes, everything except for pillows, pillows which he was charming to bombard her in rapid fire. Her dream self in turn was punching each pillow open while shrieking with laughter and using her ferocious _oppugno_ to make the feathers fly back at the black-clad wizard as he fled from room to room in the warm light of a country sunset. The memories faded out, one to another, as Hermione watched in fascination.

* * *

The next memory faded into a shaky view of Severus' own feet, dressed in muggle leather dress shoes. She heard organ music swell in the background as his eyes panned up to see her walking down the aisle of a muggle church. She was dressed in a lace-covered white dress that looked like it was straight out of a high-end muggle bridal magazine. The man on her arm looked just enough like her father to let her know that Severus must have paid closer attention to the framed pictures in her quarters than she had originally suspected. The part she couldn't get over was the look on her dream-self's face as she came down the aisle. She positively glowed with happiness, almost seeming to radiate actual light as she made her way towards dream-Severus. Hermione couldn't help feeling a twang of sadness in her chest as she realized that this dream was exactly like she had imagined her wedding to look like, down to the sobbing Minerva in the front row. As the memory faded she couldn't help wondering how long it had been that Severus had been dreaming about their wedding.

* * *

"Severus! You know my familiar is a cat, right?" Hermione saw her dream-self yell with her sternest look, eyebrows raised as she looked down at the little grey dog. Its body looked so skinny (probably from malnutrition) that it made its head and ears look almost comically large. For a second she thought of Dobby. She watched dream-Severus come through the doorway of the country house to approach a very irritated-looking dream-Hermione, sitting on the sofa with a book on her lap.

"I'm aware, love, but I couldn't leave the little fellow there to die. They were about to euthanize him now that he can't race anymore. What was I supposed to do?" She couldn't help but smirk that he used the same didactic tone of voice to talk her into increasing the size of their menagerie as he had to teach potions all those years ago.

"We already have Merlin, Circe, Nimue, and Morgana," their other four rescue greyhounds, currently sleeping in identical positions scattered around Hermione's feet, each picked up their heads as they heard their names, as usual, expecting food to follow. Every time Severus went back to Spinner's End, which he had kept just as a storage facility for some of his seedier tomes and dark artifacts, he ended up finding another past-its-prime greyhound that had been not-so-humanely discarded from the grimy town's seedy dog racing track.

"What exactly are you proposing we do here, start a greyhound rescue?" She asked, clearly leading him to see the light but not actually believing it would be a successful line of reasoning for her.

Severus stopped and thought very seriously for a second.

"I guess I'm proposing we name him Gandalf," he said diplomatically with an emphatic nod, walking out of the room and into their kitchen as Gandalf began getting curiously sniffed by the other four canine wizards at her feet.

"You know Gandalf wasn't even a real wizard!" she called into the kitchen in mock irritation, slowly patting one of Gandalf's floppy ears. She shook her head and laughed. "Crookshanks is going to have a fit when he sees you, young man," she said to the scrawny newcomer, scratching him behind the ear.

* * *

The memories faded in and out, most were blurry and nonspecific as most dreams are. The only pervasive link from one to another was the growing glow of happiness she felt building in her chest. Her and Severus laughing as they walked through Diagon Alley, them experimenting on potions together, cooking dinners that devolved into food fights in their kitchen, teaching together, sleeping together, and just coexisting. It seemed that Severus spent most of his nights imagining them doing all of life's mundane activities, just doing them together.

* * *

"What's wrong with Orcus?" an amused Severus looked down at dream-Hermione, who was laying down on the sofa with her head in his lap.

"Well, for starters it sounds like the name for a whale, and to top it off, he's one of the Roman gods of the underworld and that's a horrific thing to do to a child!"

At this Hermione's eyes darted down to the book in her dream-self's lap. While the book was large, it was not large enough to cover a very prominent baby bump. Her eyes bugged out to twice their normal size.

"Yes, but he's also the punisher of broken oaths, and isn't honesty one of the values you Gryffindors prize highly?" dream-Severus continued, apparently undeterred by the look on his wife's face.

"No. Simply no. You have been the originator of some truly awful names in our family. I, for one, do not appreciate having to walk around the neighborhood yelling like a lunatic every time Ganondorf claws his way under the fence. I refuse to do that to our children. You can continue defaming our pets, but I think I'll be in charge of any names that are eventually going to have to be written on tax documents, thank you."

And with that, her dream-self went back to paging through the parenting book in her lap.

"You do know wizards don't have to pay taxes, right?"

The book levitated out of dream-Hermione's lap and began beating Severus about the head and shoulders as he raised his hands in surrender and the very pregnant Hermione giggled mercilessly.

* * *

Hermione noticed immediately when she emerged in a room that was clearly a real memory, not a memory of a dream.

"Are you sure you want this one, sir?" a polite, mustachioed man asked Severus. "Most muggle brides generally prefer diamonds."

"My witch is not like 'most' in any way. She'll love this one."

Hermione's eye was drawn to an enormous sapphire ring, flanked on either side by a sparkling of small diamonds that seemed to have been sprinkled on it from above and just happened to stick. Her eyes bugged out as Severus placed the ring back in its black velvet box, paid an inordinate sum, and walked out of the Diagon Alley jewelry store. Smiling and whistling. Severus Snape was actually whistling.

* * *

Hermione's feet wobbled a bit as she was dropped out of the pensive back into the real world. Her mind was still reeling from what she had seen. Only when she heard a noise behind her did she snap back to reality and turn around.

She was greeted with the sight of Severus, her real life Severus, smiling nervously on one knee with a very familiar black velvet box in his hands.

"So what is your opinion, Hermione? Did those memories elucidate any questions you might have had about the status of my affections towards you?" his silky voice and vocabulary choice made her smile, far from the free-flowing affection she had heard from his dream-self, but he was just the Severus she was used to, the Severus she had fallen in love with.

"You realize that was the least romantic proposal wording ever, right?" she said with a nervous laugh, inching her way towards him.

"I'm aware," he said softly as he colored slightly, "But I think I sufficiently demonstrated that I intend to work on it. Do you possibly have an answer for me? This floor is rather cold."

He didn't get all the words out of his mouth before she had tackled him onto said cold floor, kissing every available piece of skin on his face until she reached his lips.

"I'll take it that's a yes?" he said, smiling into her kisses.

"Yes. Yes. Yes to all of it," she said without ceasing her assault on his lips. "All of it except Ganondorf. I draw the line at Ganondorf."

He broke into a rare, genuine grin as he pulled back to slip the sapphire ring onto her finger.

"We'll see," he said with a smirk as her bell-like laughter rang throughout the dungeon.


End file.
